Happy Holidays From Dead House
by A Schoolday
Summary: The Bensons spend their Christmas with some demons from the past, literally. Based on the R.L. Stine sequel that never got made and with few elements of the TV episode. Viewers beware, you're in for a... secret. Now completed
1. Intro

_DEAR KATHY,_

 _I HOPE YOU'RE HAVING A BETTER CHRISTMAS EVE THAN US. IT'S GOING TO BE MY FIRST ONE WITHOUT YOU, AND PETEY, AND GRANDMA. MOM AND AUNT LISA ARE STILL FIGHTING OV_ ER IT. WE CAN'T EVEN GO BACK TO STAY OVER LIKE NORMAL BECAUSE OF ALL THE DRAMA. WHICH IS SUCKS BECAUSE I REALLY MISS YOU. WORSE, WE CAN'T EVEN CELEBRATE AT OUR HOUSE. MY BROTHER IS THE BIGGEST IDIOT. THANKS TO HIM—

* * *

I scratched off the dark streak, if Josh thrusted me harder when he yanked forward I could have ripped a hole across the sheet. The seatbelt couldn't pin him back as he hung off the edge of the cushion with it unwinding and whipping. Like a leash on a wild animal.

"I wanna do Christmas like we used to!" He cried.

I noticed chalky leftovers coloring the side of my fist gray. Most on the ring and pinky finger, I licked them clean. The stubborn lead remaining needed to be wiped on my pants. Their thermal texture was tough and able to rub them off.

Without looking away from the road my dad impatiently shouted, "what do you want me to do, Josh? Turn back time before you burned the house down!?"

Josh didn't burn the house down, but he did enough damage for us to have to wait for it to be repaired. I don't know if I can call it luck that he chose to roast chestnuts so early in the day and gave us time to drive somewhere else. All this change was disturbing me and I was not looking forward to spending Christmas someplace away. Our house may have been new but all we would need to do was repeat our traditions there. There wouldn't be a difference. Originally, we were supposed to go over my grandma's home to stay both days. With her having passed away over the fall, my aunt has turned into an entirely different person. And my uncle Joseph is in a bad money slump and can't even afford lights let alone gifts. I never realized how big my family is until the holidays come by. Otherwise it's usually just the four of us.

Josh buried his mouth into the jacket collar to mute his words. "Maybe turn back time before you sold our first house."

I wasn't the only one who heard him; dad's rolling eyes can be seen in the rear view mirror. Too proud to admit I agree with Josh, I mind my own business. The passing signs outside my window were only readable with the car's light flashing by. I tried to learn where we were heading but a layer of snow hid the name of the upcoming sign. Even though it was in the black of night, the street looked familiar somehow.

Maddie's _Arf! Arf!_ stung my ear. Mom comically closed her snout shut in her grip. When mom brought her home with pressing optimism, I knew no one was going to love that dog. Not even she liked her. Josh hated her the most; he says the reason is because chihuahuas are girly but I know it's because he misses Petey. Our old dog was changed for the worse at our last move in. We couldn't keep him anymore, I had to put him out of his misery. Remembering the thankful shrieks I received from offing a friend of whom I tried to bury any memory of, I did the same to Petey. By spraying him with the light from a powerful enough flashlight. Now he was replaced by a baby chihuahua with an earsplitting bark. Maddie was a terror to own.

Waiting to be put in a lit up house before continuing my letter, I rivet on what was outside my side's window. In this darkness, I can only see glowing outdoor Christmas decor. One snowman stood unsettling by a hill; I wonder what person would build one with such hollowed out eyes. It was close by the home we rented that dad never described. Never being told the name of the town, all my informative detail was summed by the address.

"Zip up those jackets, kids," said dad. He pried the frozen door open with his chapped hand. Mom was helped out of the car by him, with Maddie tucked in her coat.

I didn't wait for him and left on my own. The snow held me down by the ankles, wherever we are I already didn't like it. My parents acted really excited about renting here but I didn't see how. Something terrible happened the last time they did anything like this. That was a time we all collectively tried to forget. And succeeded.

It was until I stood before the house we will be staying at, that those memory's came back up. They emerged from the grounds of my brain like reanimated corpses. My backpack, heavy with packed goods and possessions, dropped into the snow. Under those strung up rainbow lights, lawn decorations and a wreath on the front door, the home was unmistakably from our last move.

Before screaming at my family to flee, I was caught off guard by a man coming up behind me. So instead I scream at him. He laughed gravely and put a mitten on my shoulder.

"Hey look— Santa!" Josh leaped through the ground without slipping once. Mom and dad look up with their share of luggage; mom waved to him.

The crystal blue-eyed man, put his mittened hands up in defense of Josh's wild excitement. The beard on his face was so fake that I shook my head at my brother. I know he was still young but there was no way he couldn't have took notice to the white mane separating away from the chin with every laugh. His puffy lips were deep in the mouth hole of the disguise.

When dad greeted him, he was handed a clip board that he signed with ardent loyalty. Their exchange of conversation irritated me greatly.

Dad struggled to write and hold his belongings at the same time. "So how long were you waiting outside, Mr.-..."

"Santa Dawes," insisted the falsely affable man. He wasn't even trying to hide it. Instead of catching on, everyone around me fell over him. I was convinced the demons of our past have conjured a spell to control my family. Except me, unconvinced Amanda Benson.


	2. Mush

I pulled on my mom's arm the moment she finished hanging up a holiday picture frame. "We have to go right now!"

"What the hell's gotten into you." She smiled a pained smile with her brow furrowed. When I heard her speak, I didn't hear lags in a lazy drawl. She spoke in a clear voice like mine. When I looked into her eyes, I didn't see a drugged haze clouding them. They were alert and serious like mine.

I hear the beating of Josh's feet on the weak wooden stairs. He peaked at us through the bars under the railing, he briefly looked like he was crouching in a cage. No one except me knew what was going on and that drove me mad. Everyone else had acted like this is their first time here.

I'm not crazy, or blind. You have to be a real idiot to not recognize this as the house from Dark Falls. The mental mention of that title was a magnet that picked up all the pieces of that memory.

"Doesn't this place seem a little too familiar," I urged, almost sarcastic. When I released her arm, I stroked mine. The elbow area was rubbed tenderly to ease the pressure. Mom heeds her widened eyes all over.

She runs her sight over the patches of white on every wall, the amount of Sheetrock and sanded holes were more generous then I remembered. Mom looked down to the bottom of her jeans and saw shucked pieces of wood that clung to them like claws. If I were her I would have had an insight, drove away and never returned. The way she just stood passive gave me the sneaky suspicion she won't.

"No," mom flatly said. "By the way I saw a room you might like; it has a big window you can sit at."

I groaned long and loud, in a very stereotypical teenage way. Josh winched and shares glances with mom, his finger twirled around his ear. He mouthed a word that made me snatch my backpack and storm out, "crazy".

Being out in the snow alone gave me time to doubt myself. I didn't think I cried wolf too many times before. Except the time when I wanted to switch schools because my history teacher wore a big black cowboy hat. I was gaslight by my family ever since; I was told that I was paranoid, that I just wanted an excuse because I didn't like change. Of course I don't like change, our last "change" almost got us killed. Also my zodiac sign is a Taurus— we like things the same.

I shush Maddie to stop her barking. If she brings attention to mom and dad, they will know what I'm doing. I figured she wanted to come with me but I didn't like that idea.

Josh's wooden sleigh was left out and sticking out of a mound of snow. It was small but it was big enough for me to sleep my pack on top of it. It even had room for me if I squatted right, Maddie growled at me when I sat. To pacify her I dug through my bag and fished out a pair of underwear. My unmentionable were showed to be her favorite chew toy, when I came home one day to several pairs having holes in them. Shamefully, I sagged it in the air over her. Right when I wanted no one to see me, someone comes into my view. No less, it was a fully grown man. Even worse, it was the real estate agent.

He laughed as he came from behind. "Ho-ho- HO!"

"Oh shut up," I mumbled. Avoiding eye contact, I take the hooped handle of Maddie's harness and hung it onto one of the panels of the sleigh. It was silly but I might be able to make some use out of her.

He stood puzzled, likely flummoxed by my lack of fear. He asked me what I was doing in his real voice and not the Santa imitation voice. I answered him with empty silence. I will not reward him with any answers.

Unlucky for me, he guessed on his own. He returns to his thunderous voice as he said, "you better not be leaving your home that your folks registered for you, young lady."

I found a stick that I used to make a flag with my underwear. Maddie was drawn to it before I can even wave it. Her nose snooped into the crotch area but I lift it up quickly in case she tried for a bite.

I hated not turning my attention back to him. His strong blue gaze reminded me that there's a wolf at the table.

"Leaving your family behind on Christmas is not very nice," Dawes said hauntingly.

"I'll go back for them." I adjust my white jacket and zipped it all the way. "After I contact the police and have this place shut down forever, I'll go back for them."

The way my voice sounded made me seem desperate; I forgot I was a kid. It made me feel guilty that I was leaving my family in a dangerous town. Those feelings were fought as I once over my ride for any missing arrangements.

"Santa Dawes doesn't like that one bit," he rumbles low. Those full eyebrows of his knit low to his angered gleam. His meaty black mittens are on his hips and he looks at me threatening. Fatherly, but threatening.

Maddie ate a chunk out of the snow to suffice herself until I drop my underwear on a stick. I won't take it out until comes the time I need to, right now I just use my hands to hold onto the curled front part of the sleigh.

" _W-w_ hat are _you_ going to do," I sneer but the shiver in my hoarse throat was evident. I kick myself off and we start to take off. "Give me some coal?"

* * *

Mushing a little dog is never a smart thing to do. Maddie put up a fuss midway and I had to make room for her on my lap. Her hay colored fur was too thin for her to be in this weather, I can feel her shake under my fingers.

I look up to see nothing but fields of snow and naked trees. I fear we might be lost with no way back; even though I didn't want to go back. I panicked when I saw someone ahead. It was a person unmistakably making their way closer to me. Has Mr. Dawes hunted me? No, as they come closer I see they're wearing a pea coat. Instead of a Santa hat I see a black skiing cap with a ooze green stripe around it. To evade taking chances, I attempt to break away from the person. My shoe felt like a rock caught in the ice, I couldn't even move my toes. My latent scream escalated into a real one with every step they take.

It wasn't an off-putting stranger but a tall boy that I assumed to be a man from afar. A tuft of golden fringe split down the middle of his forehead, between a pair of baby blues. Not the strong vibrant blue eyes of Mr. Dawes that rivaled the Christmas lights, they were a bit weak in color. But chillingly pretty.

"Long time no see, Amanda," he said with a bright smile. He wished me a happy holiday and tried to hug me but I backed away.

"Ray!" I cried.

He was still smiling innocently. His funny upturn nose was rosy from the cold, which I found odd. As well as his winter wear, with his pea coat and skinny jeans. I did recall him being a fruity dresser as he wore a lot of tight jeans and plum sweaters in the past. His hat seemed normal for a kid his age.

He yells over to his friends in the distance, "Amanda's here, guys!"

They didn't approach us, they all just waved. Two of them stood out to me, a pair of twin children about the same age as Josh— the children of the new family that moved in. The boys I briefly talked to before escaping Dark Falls. I felt queasy seeing them casually melded with the kids.

Maddie fearlessly nibbled at the rubber of Ray's sneakers. It didn't take much to know she wasn't a smart dog. Petey caught onto the dead kids' instantaneous and wouldn't stop barking at them. Maddie just stays quiet in his presence.

A snowball crashed into his cheek out of nowhere. His face goes blank from shock, he turned away from me and at the kids from behind. The bald, skinny black boy clapped some particals of snow off his gloves; the rest of them laugh. I remember his name being Jerry Franklin. Ray scoped up his own globe of white, grinning, he charged over. Jerry tripped over trying to flee and fell on his back laughing. Part of me wanted to join in but I knew what was best for me. They seemed like a bunch of normal kids and not bloodsucking monsters.

A shock of discomfort ruined my opinion. A hunk of leather curls on my shoulder, my teeth chattered. At the ground before me, a mighty big shadow gives the snow color. The shade made the ground I stood on look like a storm cloud.

"I will be taking you home for the holidays, little girl."

* * *

 **A/N: boring chapter, had writers block, sorry.**


	3. The Visitors

The house was not easy to browse through like how smaller homes are. Even with mom's pointless decorating and cleaning, I can't find a thing. I ask her if she's seen any suspicious objects lying around or was given by strange people. She looked at me like I had seven heads. Being on my own was a conclusion I couldn't savor.

Mr. Dawes helped make me look even more of a fool; he forced me into his car and took off when he found me. My dad opened the door to see him standing there to return me like a lost pet. The way I was ambushed in the snow, made me brace for something worse. That was all he did though. Bring me back.

And give me a stern talking to in his car. He said some words that he wanted to eat later I bet, as an important detail was leaked in his whispered abuses. I knew he was a threatening creature but he did not feel obliged to hold back one bit. "Listen here; I don't know why _it's_ not working on you. But if I see you leave again, your name is going on both my naughty list _and_ a headstone", is exactly what he said. What I really wanted to know is what 'it' is supposed to be. If I had to guess, a supernatural charm that deletes memories of supernatural encounters.

While rummaging upstairs, caroling residents await at our door. Looking out the big window in my bedroom, I see a couple. No Wagnerian singing of a mass; only a man and woman about my parents' age. They sung at us even though the front door was closed in their faces. Mom and dad are hopefully ignoring them in light of that incongruous horrid tune.

 ** _We wish you a merry Kill-mas_**

 ** _We wish you a merry Kill-mas_**

 ** _We wish you a merry Kill-mas_**

 ** _Sorry we tried to eat you last year!_**

I see the door being pushed open at last. It was dad, who engaged in a quick passing of words with them. I wanted him to demand they buzz off. Dad instead shook their hands, welcoming the both of them inside.

You dumb— listen to what they were saying! If someone is reading my mind right now, I would like to let them know a thing; I'm a lot more polite than how I sound in my head. It's just that I am reasonably stressed.

There are two strangers at the table downstairs, even I did not recognized them. I mostly talked to other children when I first came here. Not an older woman with a voice so chirpy it could attract birds or an older man with a permanent serious expression. Maddie seemed to be okay with them, as she pirouettes on her hind legs with joy. Then again; she was the same way with Ray. The husband made Maddie fly into the air with his thick hands, his stony eyes went sweet with cheer seeing the puppy lifted over him.

"Isn't she just darling," the woman cooed. I observed her past the cage of the stairway, like a feral beast from afar.

My mom rolls her eyes. "She's a little demon."

Josh was ordered to bring out the sugar cookies and food for the guests to pick on. I'm glad they didn't know I was present so I would not be made to help too. If I wasn't feeling so safe from my laager, I'd go down to take something. Though, there couldn't have been a reason I can't sneak down for one. Mom was already too neck deep in a passionate conversation about the dogs to hear me struggle closer. Not matter how creaky these steps are.

"I never had to yell at Petey! Not in all eight years I had him!"

The woman, I learn 'Agnes' was her name from overhearing, makes a face. It was rational to assume it was a gesture of empathy, but I knew better. She was very aware of exactly how our old dog passed away. Aggravation crawls up my back and bites me upon leaving my flashlights at home. This would have be over quickly if I was equipped with one.

"I don't like little dogs," mom said more calmly.

Agnes makes another face, a sour puss she wore while shaking her head. "Me neither."

Petey was a terrier. Don't terriers count as little dogs? I naturally assumed she meant little-little dogs, he was a Jack Russell terrier with long legs and wooly white fur that made him look a smidgen bigger.

I forgot I'm under a table so when I stood up—I hit my head. If the bang didn't call attention to myself, Josh's pointing and crowing would. My dad drives me out from underneath it and mom barks at me.

"Amanda!"

Without a cover, I make myself a plate. I averted my eyes away from the pair of unsettling guests. Mom did not need my spiritual presence to introduce me to them.

Agnes checked me out with her shadowy and silver eyes, she then goes on about me for a whole minute. She said how great I'd get along with her daughter, how tall I was; I waited for her to slip up by adding how good I'd taste.

"You know." I can tell Agnes was going to change to subject. The way she stole a sip from the eggnog and narrowed her drifting eyes. "We used to live in this house a long time ago."

An impatient knock attacks the door. Agnes sporadically declares she will get it, singing the three words in glee. Mom and I weren't left alone for long, but long enough for her to shoot me a dirty look. Presumingly it was about embarrassing her by hiding under the table like a baby. Josh reached for a slice of the apple pie we were just given that I avoided like a flame. His hand came at a bisect between us.

The new solo stranger at the door didn't sing any carols. In fact, she was quiet when faced with Agnes and her mysterious whispers. Agnes stopped to turned around to us with a strained grin, the skin around her eyes crinkled like old paper. She introduced the girl as her daughter. I couldn't buy it because how can a raven haired woman have a child with a head of perfectly blonde hair? It was as platinum as her eyes. At the very least they _had_ the same eyes, down to the gray color and subtle rings.

Those dim, colorless gray eyes touched mine from all the way at the front door. The daughter looks past her murmuring mother to stare at me. We both had an alien intimate staring contest but I didn't understand why yet.

"Karen Ashley Shiloh Somerset; are you listening to a word I'm saying?"

A crumb of gingerbread choked me. I coughed so hard tears germinated from the corners of my eyes. The last thing they see before going through a blinking fit was that blonde girl running away from our house. It looked as if the sheer image of me scared her way.

Agnes laughed nervously. "She's a shy one— but around the right person she won't shut up."

Josh aggressively takes me from the back, he squeezed my abdomen in his little arms with unexpected strength. Just when I think I'm done, dad suggests me to go outside after her to play while the adults speak. That made me tear up and gag more.


	4. Karen

Mom stuffs my ponytail into the Mets cap she had on the table. I never realized how long my hair has gotten until it was pulled through the opening at the back, the shock of brown curls hung over my flannel scarf. I used to keep it at chin or ear length because those are always the easiest styles to sport.

She rode the zipper up to my throat, my eyes closed for impact as I prepared to die. It felt like a blade that was about to slit my neck vertically in two. Getting dressed by my mother in front of two guest was embarrassing enough as it is, now she wanted me out of the house for a while.

"You want to kick me out into the cold?" I batt my eyes.

"You seemed fine with it before," mom said referring to my exposition with Maddie from earlier. Then, there was nothing that could have made me want to stay. Those instincts of mine were so prevalent they charged up my desire to walk through snowy, crappy Dark Falls in order to have it exposed.

Exposed? I couldn't even speak properly on the phone to order a pizza at my sleepovers with Kathy. FBI officials won't believe a word out of me anyway. But there was nothing that can be done here, no house phone or officers I can trust.

"Yeah, go and hang out with 'Karen Ashley Shiloh Somerset'," Josh laughed. The mention of her name, even in mocking context, triggered a shiver up my back. No amount of coats can warm it out of my system.

Mom miffed her lips. "You shouldn't be speaking, 'Joshua Kirby Benson'."

Josh gaped his mouth; she was entitled to make fun of his full name because dad was the one who had the final say in it and not her. If dad made that choice of a middle name for punishment purposes, I would not be surprised. My middle name is 'Kaitlyn', by the way. Amanda Kaitlyn Benson, but I'm sure my parents initially wanted it to be something more easy to poke fun at.

Right when Agnes brought out the roast beef, I was thrown out the door. The adults—plus Josh, hold off eating it for my return. They kept the plater at the center of the dining room while they play cards. I leer at the tin dome through the window, imagining the mass of a human body to estimate if it can fit under there. Agnes or her husband can remove it any moment to reveal a chopped up corpse to my family when they were just expecting a meal. There's this dream I once had here that is similar to that imagery.

I have been tailing behind Karen without even knowing it. She heard my foot hit the snow and quickly turned her back. We made visual contact but once again the sight of me makes her amp to run, I yell at her to stop.

Strangely, Karen does stop. We are facing each other only with a short space between us. This is the first time I could have a clear look at her; clothes aside, she was identical to how I saw her a half a year ago. I wasn't expecting her to age but her model-good looks were a powerful contrast to her appearance as she melted away into a messy puddle of gore. Unfortunately that was the only way I could remember her, being the last time we interacted.

Her pretty, but frosted, lips were twisted into an uncomfortable looking grit. The naked set of teeth somehow had a voice seeped with guilt leak through it, "hi."

"Y'got your braces removed," I said in a shaky chuckle. The heretical promise not to make things awkward was exchanged between us like telepathy.

"Now there's nothing to distract from that overbite."

Karen's eyebrows were lifted in a relieved kind of confusion. Her blank face was ruined by a broad smile. She always did have a great smile, I can tell it was hers even without the wires tied through it.

"What about you?" She grins a notch wider. "Still suck at ball?"

Pushing up the rim of my cap, I say, "I have you know; I've taken up Little League because of you guys."

With no mention of our past, we hit it off. It was like how we did the first time we met. Ignoring a few joking jabs— she was just as friendly as always. There were no moments I felt unsafe around her or times she made me feel vulnerable. Even though we were sitting together alone which gave her every opportunity to do so.

I let her catch up with me by updating her on some things, even personal things. I told her about Maddie, my grandma, my new house, everything but my private encounters with Mr. Dawes. In hindsight I think I should. However, I did tell her about Ray and how I came across him in the outskirts of town.

"Yeah, he's been having snowball fights there. It's too cold for baseball," she spoken softly. That remark bothered me more than I should let it; since when have these kids let the cold bother them? I've seen Karen outside on windy days in nothing but teeshirts.

"He looks a little bit like you, are you related to him too?" I inquired almost unserious.

She glares at me. "How so?"

I laughed, they had similar features but they didn't look a lot alike as I thought. I put Mr. Dawes, Ray and Karen on a spectrum based on their physical colors. Mr. Dawes had the most color, with his dirty blond hair and vibrant sapphire eyes. Karen had the least color, her hair was the fairest being a pale platinum blonde and styled in a bob cut; her eyes were as gray as chloroform. Ray was in the middle— his eyes having more color than her but not as much as Mr. Dawes. The boy had short locks of gold that waved back in a suave style. Hanging around any of them made my "darkness" stand out, being an olive skinned Greek-Italian girl and all.

"That reminds me, I met your mom." A twitch crinkled my eye. "She's really nice."

Not a lie, just a false insinuation of my trust in her. Agnes seemed like everyone else at Dark falls: pseudo-congenial. I didn't even feel secure enough to take a piece of her apple pie, I even believed the roast beef she brought over was a human body in disguise.

Karen flashed a modest smirk and said, "she's okay."

On the previous subject of hair, she touches mine. I curse myself for letting my guard down. Her long fingers creeped towards my head and pets at it, her lids drifted halfway into a concentrated stare. A scream fried my stomach inside out and yet refuses to come out my mouth. Death flashed before my eyes as I foresaw her grinning a mouth full of fangs. I predict them drilling into my body to draw blood, and heating my neck up with sour breath. So I slapped her against the skin of her cheek, that did it.

The skin reddened slightly and Karen gives me a waifish, confused frown. My being freezes, for I feel as though I enraged the animal in her. She may have looked dainty and off-put now but I knew better. I always knew better.

"Amanda," she growls quietly.

"Stay away from me! Evil—"

"I was getting a crumb out of your hair."

Between the tips of her fingers and well groomed fingernails, I spot the piece. A speck of the gingerbread men I had piled onto my plate at home. I touch the side of my head where she has touched and picked it out from. My hands and feet were freezing from both the cold and my fear, the look Karen gave me offered me no heat.

"You thought I was going to bite you," she said deadpan.

"You weren't?" Even though I was proven wrong, I still needed more reassurance.

Karen flicks the crumb away and reverts back to sitting position farther away from me. That affable mask of hers drops as she appears to be very offended by me right now. Such a weird girl; one minute the smiley down to earth type, terrifying and reserved the next.

She cradles her knee as she crosses her leg over the other. "I don't _need_ to anymore."

I gesture her to carry on, to explain. Karen knew that was what I wanted, I can tell by the pained pull of her lips. That desperate and defensive fold of her arms. I struggle closer just in case she was going to tell me in a whisper, whatever I was about to hear was extremely confidential. The first thing Karen whispers was the fact that she wasn't supposed to tell me this. Tall bangs droop over the upper half of her face as she looks down at my hands. They were held low in my lap but she takes them into hers.

"We're alive now, Amanda. You saved us."

A gasp heaves into me. I can feel my own heart, it transmitted hindered beats that I can practically hear from within. The sound was deafening despite being faint. Only half of this made sense. It couldn't have been me who saved them, light was supposed to kill them for good not do the opposite. Unbelievable, even with all the clues. Maddie didn't bark at any of the residents, the humane blushing of Ray's nose and Karen's cheek, their newborn sensitivity to the cold. I started mumbling silent doubts to myself and rubbed together my hands.

Karen ducks her head and leaves my side. She seemed regretful, the way she glanced back at me one last time. Not letting her out of my sight until I learn more— I chase after her again.


	5. Soil, Soil

Warnings: Taphephobia triggering detail (mentioned)

* * *

4:00 AM - I'm awake. Christmas Eve is over but Christmas Day won't come for hours. Here on this futon, in this darkness, I can't sleep a wink. Not because of dead children haunting me with their tricks and sounds, that was something I no longer had to worry about apparently.

We're opening gifts tomorrow, and won't be leaving for home until Monday according to dad. And that's if the house is even repaired in time. I'm ashamed to admit I wished there was enough time in between to find out more about what I've done to Dark Falls. When I chased after a cagey Karen I failed miserably to even come close to her, that girl can run. No wonder she's so good at baseball. I gave up and went back to the house where her parents spent the rest of the evening with us. We ate a normal non-evil dinner, played non-evil games, listened to non-evil music. I was as not satisfied as I should have been.

 _Arf, arf, ARF!_ Because my mind being thick with thoughts wasn't enough to keep me up. Now Maddie is circling in the yard, barking her little head off. Not having scary figures to indicate for us didn't stop her; in other words this was completely unnecessary. Ignoring it didn't help nor did smothering my ears with two pillows. Granted I was not tired anyway, but it was so annoying. I actually preferred the dead kids.

"Oh shut up!" I sounded like my mother. "You know for a little dog you got a big mouth!"

She went on for ten whole minutes, and I had to put an end to it. Closing up the windows after pushing back the squirming curtains, I was about to grab a jacket and run down. I never had to yell at Petey like that, I would usually ask him what was the matter. When he made a lot of noise it was usually for something important. Maddie did so at a drop of a hat.

She _was_ yapping at something important — Mr. Dawes passing by at this hour of the night. He was riding in his old car, making awkward turns and getting out; still dressed like Santa. This is the first time Maddie went insane at the sight of one of the residents. She could just not like him... but I think it's something more.

"What's going on?" I muse. I roll out of bed and directly onto the floor without a far drop. Once again, putting on a jacket. Throwing it over my nightgown, I assumed it's the white one from before. When I went under the light of a streetlamp I discovered it was my red and blue hoodie.

I shut the door gently but the wreath hanging on it still swung like a pendulum. Another thing I realized was that the shape of it is a lot like a skull. Complete with dangling silver bells for teeth. Snowmen with hollowed out eyes like soulless craters, decorations shaped like skeleton heads, Christmas carols with "kill" in them. For a town that was redeemed of its death it sure celebrated it.

Mr. Dawes was never redeemed. Josh cracked him in the head with the flashlight not burned him to the ground with it. That means he's still undead. He's still causing his wrongdoings. He's also the only one Maddie had a reaction to. As scary as it sounds, I had to follow. And I didn't bring Josh with me. How could I; he wasn't aware this time.

He predictably visits the cemetery, right behind where the amphitheater is held. The town children line up with Mr. Dawes up in front leading them. There is a long, gaping hole in the dirt. Freshly made with soft squishy soil lining it and in the form of a pile nearby.

I see them meet up with Karen. She stood up tall, straight face, arms to the side. Her eyes didn't emote but I think I saw tears at the corners— definitely tears. One rolled down her dirty face while the rest stays solid as a statue's. Dirt down her cheeks, in her hair, on her clothes - under the usually neat finger nails.

"You haven't been a good elf," Mr. Dawes all but scold.

She was still, fighting back weakness. The other kids had trembling knees and frightened moans. Even the cool as a cucumber Ray was looking the most horrified I have seen him.

Dawes picked up the shovel and thrusted it into Karen's unresponsive hands. "I hope those thirty minutes underground reminded you of where you used to sleep. And why you're helping me out this Kill-mas."

"Yes, Santa Dawes," she said with the monotonous flow of a kindergarten classroom responding to their teacher. Despite the horror of the situation, Karen showed no signs of regret.

Did he bury her alive? Did Mr. Dawes really punish a twelve year old girl for whatever she did by burying her alive?

"I hope none of Santa's other little helpers are being naughty by fraternizing with my prey and handing out hints," he loudly announced for the rest of the children.

"Well?"

They begged for mercy under his authority, the kids huddled side by side and promise they weren't; with Ray crossing his fingers behind his back. Where I am shielded at the back of a thick tree, I see his hidden hand. I don't remember Ray aiding me when I last saw him. Unless he hasn't yet.

"Good. Because if you are, that yellow factory-gas, you're all getting sprayed with it— and it's back to being the living dead to y'all!"

He had to be bluffing, how could he have access to it? Or was there a supply in his possession that he uses to keep them in line. The living kids nod their heads in obedience minus Karen. She was busy throwing the shredded soil back into her grave to fill it. Mr. Dawes cackled evilly, his sapphire eyes turn to rubies. They lit up the dying hours of the night with a malicious glow. His face was clearer to see now; cracked white sections of skin like lips on a dehydrated person. With some spats and some words about revenge, he took to his car. The kids all scurry in terror. The twin boy newcomers knocked their foreheads into each other. I try to find away to back out without being seen by any of them.

It was too late for that; I was seen by one. The girl with cropped, short black hair walks right by me. I can't remember her name, if I even was told it, but I distinctly remember her. She was the one of the first I envisioned lurking in the house. One night when we moved into Dark Falls, she shows up standing at the bottom of the stairs. My mom told me it was just a pile of laundry.

I became stiff as I expected her to rat me out to the others. Instead, she offers me a sad pout. Nothing being said, she leaves with her head hanging low. Ray ran ahead of her without taking notice of me. His arms sets forward made me think he had something important to do.

* * *

Being back in bed made me want to sleep less. My friend just risked getting buried alive for me, remorseless. I couldn't tell if it was for telling me the town's new secret, or something totally different. Probably the later; letting me know everyone's alive now didn't seem to constitute that cruel consequence. That night confirmed what I feared. Mr. Dawes is very much still undead, and is using the now-living residents to get to us.

I take the time to look around the house. Not for evil charms set up by him, for clues left by the kids. That was proven easier, as a big card was sticking out of my stocking. Which wouldn't be out of the ordinary except that my parents forgot to leave out everyone's gifts for the morning. Only that card is seen.

It wasn't in an envelope or signed by the sender. Literally, just a sheet of card board with three words printed across in bloody letters: BURN THE WREATH


	6. Red

I take a look at some cinnabar eyes, they are very red. They are very judgmental and red. Buried into a bristly face of green, I wasn't convinced of their festive glow. It was more like a fire's glow, I didn't want to touch them because I think they might burn. But I had to touch them, or at least the rest of the collection. Whatever ligature is holding this thing together is riddled with dark magic. The message wasn't exactly in putonghua. Whoever sent it wanted me to take care of it for good whether it's Ray, Karen, that black haired girl, or the kids all together. Mr. Dawes being the sender was an option I didn't consider. He could be tricking me into something. Why would I even destroy that wreath anyway; my family getting their memories back would only make things more difficult.

A decision needed to be made fast as I stand vigil outside my door. The dawn rears into view at my back in the form of a candy sky. Mom and dad would want to wake up early to set up the presents and make breakfast for me and Josh. So I unhook the heavy wreath off the door and brought it into the house. I swore I heard it hiss at me like a tiger.

Inside, the chimney wasn't ignited yet. Dad had it running all day but put out the fire for Santa Claus to ease down it. I didn't really know how to set a fire on my own and was afraid to. I can't even strike a match. Half an hour was spent creating a spark to throw onto the logs, when I finally got one I felt like the first human to discover fire. The logs roast and bear a high flame that I prepared to throw the wreath into. I watched it crumple to soot in the fireplace until the grains of faux grass fall apart. Only the spheres, the eyeballs, were left; along with the jingling teeth. I can feel the atmosphere become bleaker.

"Wrong wreath, dear," said a deep voice as soft as rocks.

I crane my neck and scream his name, "Mr. Dawes!"

His eyes were a dull red, not the glinted rubies I saw the night before. Pulling up his belly over that thick belt, he closed them calmly. I can hear a dark Latin orison being sung in my head as he plagues the house with his presence. He wasn't the only one. Hands grab at me greedily and run all over my body.

The town kids were once tucked away in the shadows, and now they hold me in place. They were human children but all their strength together made me feel like I was going to split in four. Giggles fill my head, some more unconfident and shaky than others. My arms were wrung between the hands of George Carpenter and Jerry Franklin. A girl with long blonde hair and brighter clothes, whose name I don't remember, choked me. All present except for Ray. He appeared to be missing in action for this.

"Ambushed!" Laughed one of the boys, I couldn't tell which part of me he was holding.

"Good work, kids," Mr. Dawes praised. When he walked forward, his skin turned as white as the snow outside. "Or should I say, 'elves'?"

The girl with short black hair grinned ear to ear, as opposed to looking sad and regretful like I last saw. "Are we off the naughty list, Santa?"

"Not until I get my present," he said.

My heart felt like a race car's engine. At my highest octave, I scream for my parents and - or brother to come to my rescue. Mr. Dawes laughed and told me they were already taken care of; Agnes Somerset invited them for an early, before Christmas, outing. That explains the missing gifts, but I had a feeling something worse has happened. Mr. Dawes tells me he won't "touch me" until their departure. My head spun by this confusion, nothing adds up.

He shifts his boots towards me but I shout at him to stop. I wanted to squeeze answers out of him, before whatever happens. Maybe I can solve it, maybe I can bring him back to life too.

"Don't do it... I can save you too. Just let me open a window to let the light in."

He shakes his bearded head, his arms folded over his chest. I stare helplessly at him with my mouth hanging open. If there was a point here I totally missed it. Even the kids were silent, their mean giggling ended.

"You can't 'save me', that ship has sailed." Red eyes shine bright like jewelry. They withheld a twinkle of misery, angry at my suggestion. Mr. Dawes found the heart to teach me what was going on. Although I didn't think I could keep up. Adjusting his belt again, he takes his time with vague details. He unravels his folded arms to point a mitten at me. He calls me "special"; in how I was the favorite subject of torture of the dead kids, in how I wasn't stupor in light of the charmed wreath, how my killing the town specifically reverted them. He called me a chosen one. He said he needed my blood alone, not the other Bensons or living fruitful town residents. I still don't get it. It had to be an excuse because he's too proud to admit he just wanted revenge. What is mine going to do that no one else's can?

"You don't want to do this, please" I say to all the kids, but particularly to Karen as she is the only one I'm making eye contact with. Her evil smile, with the spaces between each tooth lined with dirt - still stunning and recognizably hers, flips to a frown. Her eyes soften even though they are half open with a cynical coldness to them. Their warmth was gone, down to her hands. She puts the back of one to my cheek; they weren't literally cold but a gesture so caring shouldn't feel so chillingly awful.

As Karen strokes my cheek, she drones, "I'm so sorry Amanda, but I really don't want to go back to being dead. Not again. _Never again_. I hope you understand."

Tears fill my eyes to the point of physical pain. My jaw hurt from trembling and clenching at the same time. I needed a tourniquet for my head. The rest of my body too, every fiber of me is being gripped by ten or twelve people. I can't move a finger, this is not an exaggeration. Mr. Dawes does his Santa laugh, ho, ho, ho. And comes at me.

He falls flat on his face, ruining all integrity he built for himself. The man takes a dive forward as if he tripped over something. He was tripped _by_ something to be exact.

Ray was seen near his fallen form. He posed like some hero, his legs low to the floor with a baseball bat wielded out. Mr. Dawes writhes in place before looking back at him in shock.

"You—brat!"

He was too busy looking at him that he failed to notice me being set free by his supposing helper. I questioned if this was planned from the start but the blank stares of his friends justifies what's real. The girl with black hair muttered his name in confusion.

Ray held his own against Mr. Dawes. For a pre teen taking on an adult, he did pretty well for himself. He mostly ducked and dodged him while the man throws hands at him. I couldn't keep my eyes off them; it took the kids ringing around me, blocking my vision, for me to. They stood over me but faced the two with protective stances. Mr. Dawes threw Ray and made him slid across the floor and into the wall. He looked at their newborn betrayal, his body swelled in rage.

"We're not doing this anymore," George demanded.

"Uh huh," added Jerry as he shook his head.

Mr. Dawes stomped like a toddler throwing a tantrum. He unleashed a feral yell into the air. Not one party of the group abandoned me at the time, even though they know what will happen if they don't. I was anticipated them returning to his side, because of how fickle they shown themselves to be.

The angry salesman fished a mitten through his suit. What he took out looked too big to be able to fit in it without so much as a bulge. It was a container with a hose attached, almost like a yellow windex bottle.

"Fine, then you're all getting gassed!" He roared. Mr. Dawes frantically sprayed them all with it, except for me. I'm too elusive, being shielded behind the group.

The little cloud of smoke looked filthy. But did its job successfully. The kids plea and scream, the sound was disturbing. Just in case, I walk away from it with my back against the wall. I know it's selfish but my survival instinct said it was what's right.

Still, I wanted to save them. Among the multitude of a bunch, I hear one crying "not again!" and "anything but that!"; I feel myself shrunk. The agonizing screams at last came to a complete stop. When the gas clears away, the dozen of them all collectively stood the same. All with their heads hanging and arms dangling forward lifelessly.

They suddenly turn to me in unison. The bunch picks up their shadowy heads to display a bouquet of red eyes like lit up roses.


	7. The Fight

I've seen so many red eyes at once that they don't seem red anymore.

There they were, multiplied by six and as red as the flag waving in my head. Like the ones of that skull wreath, only more human-looking. Not big crimson marbles stuck in a head with expressionless stillness. They were really no different from brown eyes to me. Just normal eyes with a different, if not unnatural color. The children that owned them changed with their progressing glow. Their innocence and regretful betrayal was sabotaged and they were once again against me, 'genuinely'. It still existed in them but was pushed down by primal hunger brought to them by the factory gas.

"Your blood is valuable, Amanda," Mr. Dawes moaned. He ripped off the beard from his face, I saw ruined skin revealed from underneath.

Wanting to be taken extra seriously, he removed his hat too. "What feeding off of you would do; would be more marvelous than being alive."

The baseball bat Ray was previously equipped caught my eye. It conveniently rolled in my direction and at my bare feet. Even though I nagged at myself to grab it, I didn't want to move. A whole choreographed series of events concerning an escape was developing; pick up the bat, hit the first one that gets too close, run up the stairs, find the real wreath, burn it, hold myself through until mom and dad return. I couldn't hide exactly. Each kid has lived in this house and would know all its crevices backwards and forwards.

"Looks like we're _all_ going to need it now," Mr. Dawes opens his arms above the children. It apparently was a signal, because one of them lunges forward.

I kicked up the baseball bat and shot her against the head with a lot of my muscles used. That head decapitated on impact, with an awful _rip!_ sound it flew over the mob like a baseball off a tee. At least it was bloodless. If only it didn't continue to move too as it hops on her chin to travel closer to me.

The way to the stairs was free and in my reach. When I dropped the bat on the way there, my feeling of security misplaced. I spent the rest of the chase unarmed and helpless. They followed me all at once to the upper den— where I met a dead end. Outrunning them through the kitchen, dining room, various halls and everywhere else was possible but now I stop.

That survival instinct I talked about comes back, candles and candles were lit around here. The only electric power present was a lightbulb that stuck on the ceiling with a stringy chain hanging down. Whatever idea I had in my head disappears and was suddenly forgotten. It was breathed out of me by the stress overbearing my brain.

The kids start to float a foot above the floor like phantoms. They all possessed their own auras that varied in size-ratio to their bodies. Mr. Dawes had the biggest glow, as a fully grown man.

"It's okay," Ray said softly to me. Hearing him speak made me bounce back from his voice. It didn't match the hungry look on his dead face.

"At least we'll all be together after, right?"

I'm crying on the inside, any second the tears will break out regardless if I want them or not. I hunted for the lost idea in my head; it had to do with the candles surrounding us. I wanted to stall them with something, anything. But they look impatiently longing.

"Come on - I'm starving here!" A big boy, who looks like a teenager, marches forward. An aggressive shove was given to Ray by him, who he impressively outsized. His slicked-back black hair that was usually maintained with gel was messy. He looked less like his greaser typed self and more like how Mr. Dawes looked in a way.

In an attempt to grab me, he trips and spirals me backwards into something long and thin. When it tips, the fall sounded like glass breaking. The boy curses under his breath. Then the rest curse as well and scream in panic. The cruel irony was that I then remembered what my idea was when everything burns down.

My hands are pressed against hot wood as I am elbows and knees on the floor. Or is that hands and knees? I'm under sulfuric smoke, safe from it but afraid to stand up. I'm trapped, like the others. Their shouts didn't sound like ones of people in pain, but they're hindered badly. I hear a girl complain about having her arm burn off like it was just a paper cut. If anything— I'm the only one fatally affected by this.

Mr. Dawes yells at everyone to clear the room, because the floor will collapse. I start panting in light of that news and force myself to find a crutch like a latch or nook. I jump for the lightbulb chain but as expected my weight snaps it off; the fall made me crash through the floor.

I pummeled through the wood from the den to Josh's bedroom. The only positive thing was that I landed on his bed, but it was a futon like mine so the cushion wasn't that great. He was no where to be found, good. That means he went with mom and dad. He's safe as this dead house is in flames from top to bottom. That one candle made a castle full of explosions and ash.

Seeing as how the dinning room was the only place safe, I naturally took refuge there. It's only a matter of time before the fires would eat up this room too. If I wanted to catch my breath I would have to now.

Mr. Dawes picked up the table where I hid under above his head. He effortlessly tossed it into the corner, it crumpled against the wall in a ball of powdered sawdust. A wall of heat rose at his hunched back that could barely touch the top of the hole filled ceiling. Also at his back were all his fallen followers that were left harmed by the status of the house.

I cower behind a chair, which he also knocked out of the way. I inhaled so hard some of the smoke actually came up my nose. My eyes water; I can't tell if they're tears of emotion or from the sulfur. I'm too soggy to run away, not that they is any where I can run to.

Mr. Dawes wiped away the black ash that was under his nose. "Let's see my little helpers try to save you now—"

His lagged steps towards me come to a random stop. His eyes become wide with flummox, one of his helpers literally tried to help me.

He looks down to his foot, the one that was delayed. Karen has caught his ankle in a firm fist. Even though she was missing half her face, and a lot of her hair, I was able to pick her out from everyone else. She looked like a melted Barbie doll, and yet she kept going. What was left of her burnt lips was curled into a snarl.

"Let go of me, Karen," Mr. Dawes calmly asked. He bent his leg in different directions to lose her but her fingers were clasped.

The spasms of his leg progressed to full on kicking, he shook and shook but the girl on him was stubborn as can be. The single eye, paired next to a gaping black socket, still had its red. No gentle shade of gray was seen in it and yet this.

"I said get off!"

He took his free foot and thrusted it in her head onto the vulnerable bald spot. She turned over onto her back with her stomach up for more kicking. Mr. Dawes seemed to have forgotten about me, he only cared for her now. I wasn't jealous as she was furiously battered by his boot in brutal redundancy. He lost his temper to such a level that he attacked her past the point where she even tried to defy him.

He caved in a dent into her ribs. I know because I saw his foot digging into it down to her spine. Just because there was no blood doesn't mean this was at all pleasant to watch. Especially since it was Karen.

While he was preoccupied, I threw a chair at him. It was as effective as a snowball as it burst against his hard back. He glared back with a terrible leer of his eyes, wide and erupting with blind fury. He raised a fist at me and I stand passively with my eyes closed; I might be dead after but at least I won't be undead like him.

Mr. Dawes was struck down by a bathtub. All that was seen were spidery limps coming out of it. In the ceiling above him there was a hole leading directly from the upstairs bathroom. Grumpy mutters can be heard from underneath, they vibrated from porcelain to wood.

I dust off soot on my nightgown. "Geez, I thought Santa was supposed to give coal to kids that are naughty."

My name is called from outside, it's as faint as a whisper. Even though it was a shout. It couldn't be the dead kids' as they were still here, plastered to the floor by the foam of their watery skin. I listen in to the cries of outside the house — my dad's call. He sounded devastated. I wanted to pick myself up, crawl to him and jump in his lap; letting him know I was okay. Before I close my eyes, I can feel him pick me up and carry me. It felt a little more like my mom's. I couldn't judge by sent since my senses are drowned by the heat and smell of smoke.

When I open my eyes, the cries continue. Only they sound closer and relieved instead of the panicking of a worried parent. The car was parked safely on the street. Dad hugged mom, giving her a reassuring rub on the shoulder. She sobbed into his shirt but cried in gratitude to God in relevance to my well being. Josh reached over and honked the horn of the car, rather rude to our parents if you ask me.

If the three of them are in the car, with my body limp in the air, who was the one holding me? I let out a scratchy cough to drive out what was polluting my system. The chilly winter air was very refreshing and restored me back to consciousness. I can smell things better now, like the burnt fabric of a coat. It was a pea coat.

Ray Thurston rocked me closer with one arm tucked under my knees and the other around my waist. A scrawny, lanky kid was walking off with me with no issue. He was a lot like Karen in that sense; skinny and scrawny but tall and strong. With the exception of his missing eyebrows and a few missing fingers, he looked intact compared to the others. Ray dipped me onto my feet to stand me up. My toes were already freezing in the snow but I didn't care.

"Before I go, let me help you again," I beg him.

The sun was probably blocked out by a house or tree. All I needed was a few minutes. One by one, I'll take the dead kids by the hand and walk them into the sun. If I'm the only one who could do that then it's my job to. I ignored the calls from my family and stared him straight in his baby blue eyes, the only red left were tinged by the pupils.

Ray shook his head and pushed me to the street. "There's no time. Just go."

I did inch towards the car, but I remained facing him. The frustration mixed with lament left me feeling down. All he did was wave, forcing a smile. I waved back and promised to go back for him and the others one day. The roof of the dead house sunk downward with all windows smashing to shards. Even the bricks started to deteriorate, some popping off.

I sat next to Josh in the car as I watched Ray outside my door's window. As the wheels turn, I kept on waving. Mom asked me who that was, I made fun of her for caring at a time like this.

"How come every time we get a new house it burns to the ground?" Dad asks, I am uncertain if he was joking or not. It seems that him, mom and Josh regained their memories. Wherever that charmed wreath laid in the house it finally burned with the rest of it. I accomplished so much with just one candle.


	8. Goodbye, Dead House

If dad wasn't going to turn back, he could at least change the song on the radio. With him it's either sports radio or Lite FM, and now he put on the later. The station played Blue Christmas and it hurts to listen. It's not a bad song at all, in fact the version that played was sung by a girl whose voice was pretty and less silly than Elvis's in my opinion. But it was a really bad time; I lost so many people and had a blue Christmas without them. Not that having them here would fix what a disaster this year's was.

No more Dead House. No matter which way the car goes, I can still see the rising smoke. Nobody in the car would agreed with me but, I wanted to come back one day. Okay, even _I_ couldn't agree with me on that. Ray and everyone else needed me to change them; with my "special blood". I pretended to understand beyond the vagueness of Mr. Dawes' explanation. Here I am complaining about my Christmas when he and the children got stuck in a burning house. At least I'm not Josh; griping about not getting any presents. Like the wreath that mind controlled him, the packages and gifts presumingly all caught fire too. Which is a shame; I worked hard getting them for everyone. And I really wanted a new My Little Pony item.

Dad turned off the radio, thankfully. He chuckled, "I guess our Christmas Day will have to take place at a hotel."

"In Atlantic City," said mom.

"We can get our presents from the boardwalk," said Josh.

"And have breakfast near the Casino!" I yelled, not excited. Just agreeing to move us forward.

It won't be the same, but at least it's not Dark Falls. It'll be like Christmas in Hawaii or something like that. Maybe the rooms will have those pine trees with fiber optic needles that change color and don't need decorating. They have to have a mall; everyplace has a mall. Or at least an outlet with people working for charities who wrap your gifts for free.

But it won't have grandma, I think as I take a look at her Mass card kept on the dashboard in respect. It won't have grandma, my aunts, uncles, baby cousins, lasagna, pudding, Petey, Maddie—

"Where's Maddie?" I said in the most serious, dark voice I can make. I gripped my mom's seat and sat up without a seatbelt pulling me back.

Mom was quiet, her eyes dilated in terror. Josh thinks I can't see him dancing in the side view mirror but his happy wiggling was clear as day. Mom blurts out the dog's name to high heavens after allowing to give her panic some cathartic visibility.

At the sound of her name, Maddie howls. Last time I saw her was the backyard of the house last night. Now she yaps from a surprisingly nearby location. It was almost to suspicious to be true but she is practically calling for us to rescue her. Even that dog doesn't deserve abandonment.

The cemetery. It came from the cemetery. Right when we rode past it the canine sounds can be heard and became stronger, to the point where it sounded like multiple dogs. When dad yielded slightly in presence of an upcoming stop sign— I jump out of the car.

"Amanda stop!" He barks.

"She could be one of them!" Mom warns. She's right; Maddie could be a victim of a feeding. What happened last time may very well happen again.

I sprinted into the woods and towards the cemetery. The trees blocked out a lot of snow so my relieved naked feet didn't have to deal with the cold. Which is why Mr. Dawes was able to make a hole in the dirt in spite of the weather.

One bark was definitely Maddie's, sharp as pins, and a bit croaky. But when she barked again, it sounded deeper. Like a baby wolf's bark. Has Maddie been encountered by a wild animal? In retrospect, I wouldn't put it past her to seek one out. Usually when she's threatened she will make a whimpering noise and her barks get lower. She made growls that were more playful than defensive, if anything the other dog was the one whimpering.

The other dog crouched behind a spire tombstone when I entered the province. All I saw was a wavy tail, bent down shyly. Maddie reacted the opposite; she ran back and forth when her excitement became to big for her little vessel. Whenever she does this, I sit down for her to be able to lick me. She head butts me in an attempt to lick my lips with her tough tongue. Some of her fangs brushed up against my mouth.

"Who's that, puppy?" I say, pushing down one of her enormous ears. Maddie sees me looking at the hiding dog, and shares my view. Her pointy snout and ballpoint black noise erected at the tall memorial stone.

Tan dipped paws, on otherwise white legs, stuck out. They left behind paw prints that were bigger than Maddie's tiny ones. The other dog made a pitiful growl that was sad sounding to me. I forgot what a dog that isn't a chihuahua was supposed to sound like.

"Aren't you going to invite me to your boyfriend?" I smiled as I tip toe around the spire to find him. My smile dies.

White dog, long legs, gram cracker colored paws and ears, long curly fur, a "mustache" that came out of both sides of his nose. A collar with a gold license twirling from it under the neck.

I descent to the level of the Jack Russell terrier. "Petey?"

He cried, his dark transparent globes twinkling like stars. They didn't look like how I last saw them: evil and aloof. They looked how they should look now. Big and brown, like mine. That's all. His fur was curly like my hair and wasn't matted like when he had died. And while he had clumps of dirt in them and smelled like garbage, he didn't smell like a carcass. Petey was no exception to the mass revival of the town. Taking him out like Old Yeller, finishing him with a flashlight, having him shrivel under it — all a good thing in the end.

"It's okay, Petey." I hold him by the neck to reel him in for a hug. Maddie kissed him on the bottom of his chin, she cuddled with him and I.

"It's okay, Petey. I got you."

* * *

And so, the Bensons moved their car again. Now with two dogs huddled in the trunk, the emptiness has been put in remission. Their hearts were set on riding out of Dark Falls. Damages were done but the family was sent off in style.

Seven boys and four girls aligned into two rows. Their young hands held papers with lyrics and notes drew all over. These hands were mended of the deforming injuries of the fire; one of the few perks of being undead. One wasn't looking like himself, however. Compton Dawes was flat as a pancake, and leaned against a mailbox by one of the more merciful children. One of the sheet music was even nailed into his fleshy hands. With how thin they were from the bathtub, it was like paper on paper. With angry eyes, he watched his traitors sing to his escaped prey.

 ** _We wish you a merry Kill-mas_**

 ** _We wish you a merry Kill-mas_**

 ** _We wish you a merry Kill-mas!_**

They pause. All shooting demanding scowls at the poor salesman. With a roll of his angry, crystal eyes, he was forced to belt the last line. Albeit with no moxie or passion about participating.

 ** _Sorry I tried to eat you this year_**

 _(Fin)_


	9. Final Note

final note: I hate making multichaptered stories because oh god. There are a lot of plot holes I'm too tired to fill and in hindsight I shouldnt have categorized it under humor, it didn't turn out as funny as I wanted it (unlike my upcoming request fic... give it time). Amanda is out of character to me and comes off as bratty, but I have no one to blame but me. Other than that, I'm mostly happy with it. Thanks for the reviews, having an audience feels so great. Take Care and happy late holidays.


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